


Blizzard

by threeplusfire



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You walked here. In a blizzard. Without your wallet.” Trott shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. </p><p>“This could have gone better, I’ll admit.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blizzard

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr anon prompt - you walked here in a blizzard to get your hot chocolate but you forgot your wallet at home, here, let me buy your drink for you. Just a quick, one shot idea. I hope the anon enjoys it.

Trott leaned on the counter, watching the snow swirl against the glass. Outside the coffee shop, an early storm had kicked up and the weather station made it sound ridiculous. Fortunately, most of their customers had stayed home, and the few left by 10pm had decided to book it before the blizzard got any worse. So it was just a couple of them, getting ready to close everything down for the night.

There was something smudged on his glasses, and Trott took them off. Everything became pleasantly blurry while he tried to clean the lens with a corner of his apron.

The front door banged open, bringing in a burst of cold air that Trott felt all the way across the room. Slipping his glasses back on, he frowned at the man who stumbled inside along with a flurry of snow.

“Fuck,” the man swore, feet skidding as he tried to close the door against the wind. Trott shivered, and noticed the man wasn’t wearing a hat. Idiot, he thought. What kind of idiot goes out for coffee in a blizzard without a hat? Apparently a really good looking idiot, Trott amended, watching him brush snowflakes out of messy auburn hair and off the shoulders of a battered wool coat. Straightening up, the man gave him a grin. Trott swallowed and pushed up from his elbows.

“Please tell me you’re still open.”

“No mate, we just hang around with the door unlocked waiting to see who is wandering around in the snow,” Trott snorted.

The auburn haired man laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners with a grin.

“Can I have a hot chocolate, please? Biggest size you have.”

“Did you seriously come here in the snow for a hot chocolate?”

“Just moved into my place yesterday, haven’t had time to buy groceries.” He shrugged, still grinning.

“Ridiculous,” Trott said under his breath. He tapped the register, and glanced over his shoulder. His coworkers Oliver and Mary were busy clearing out the baked goods case. He turned back to his customer.

“Three fifteen then.”

An expression of confusion passed over the man’s face as he reached into his coat pocket. He opened it up to dig in the pockets of his jeans, revealing a dark blue knit sweater. Digging in his pockets, his expression grew steadily more mournful.

“Fuck,” the man sighed. “I left my wallet in my flat. I can’t believe it… I swear I had it…” He continued to dig in his pockets, turning up some paper and a cell phone, a house key and two coins.

“You walked here. In a blizzard. Without your wallet.” Trott shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. His fingers tensed in the crook of his arms.

“This could have gone better, I’ll admit.”

“For god’s sake,” Trott sighed. He looked back over his shoulder again at his coworkers, then back at the guy across the counter.

“Sorry.” The man stuffed everything back in his coat pocket. “Fuck.”

“Hey Oliver,” Trott called. “I’m making myself a drink, okay?”

“You clean up whatever you mess with,” Oliver called back. “I don’t want to wash anything else tonight.”

“Hang on,” Trott said, pointing at the abashed customer. “Stay right there.” He stepped back to steam some milk, humming under his breath as he made up the biggest hot chocolate he could. He dashed in some cinnamon syrup along with the chocolate, and piled on the whipped cream. Might as well go all out. On the way back to the register, he snagged one of the shortbread cookies from the pile of stuff to throw out or take home after they closed. Mary raised her eyebrows, but only continued sweeping.

“On the house,” Trott said, pushing the drink and the cookie across the counter.

“Wait, seriously?” The auburn haired man cocked his head to the side, a disbelieving expression on his face.

“Anyone dumb enough to go out in a blizzard for hot chocolate needs all the help he can get,” Trott said dryly.

“Thanks. Really, thank you.”

“Now go home, so I can go home.” Trott followed him to the door, pushing chairs in at the tables along the way.

“You far?” he asked curiously. It was still snowing, snow drifting through the street lights and piling up across the road. There were only a handful of cars on the street, creeping along. Most of the shops along the block had already closed. Trott would be glad to get out before the trudge a few blocks to home turned into a slog through knee high snow. He wasn’t wearing boots and didn’t relish the thought of wet trousers and shoes.

“Just across the street.” He pointed at the apartments across the street, over the burger place. It was all fairly new, construction that had taken out a decrepit strip mall and built up the entire block. They were nice, brand new, and too expensive for someone in a customer service job.

“Huh.” Trott looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Up close, he was trying not to notice how freaking tall this man was, how attractive the scruff of stubble on his chin was, or how his eyes were a lovely greenish blue. This was not something he was going to think about, he told himself firmly. But he kept staring, taking in the details.

Beside him, the man sipped at his hot chocolate, and made a satisfied little groan. Trott blushed, distracted by how good the sound was and the immediate inappropriate turn to his thoughts. He wondered why the hell he’d made this guy a drink. It was not certainly out of the boundless generosity of his heart.

“This is amazing, thank you… uh, you don’t have a name tag.”

“Nope,” Trott said, amused. “Funny how I keep losing that.”

“I don’t even have receipt for me to sneakily try to get your name.” He sipped the drink again, and eyed the cookie in his other hand.

Trott chuckled. One of his coworkers stuck his head out of the door into the back.

“Trott, kick that guy out and lock the door before anyone else comes in, I want to go home!”

“Thanks, Oliver!” Trott shouted back, annoyed.

“Trott?”

“Chris Trott,” he sighed. “There was already a Chris, so...”

“Smith,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Alex Smith, in case you know any other Smiths. Or another Alex I guess.” Trott stared at him for a second before shaking it. He tried not to let the touch linger, even though he wanted to turn the man’s hand over and examine all of his callouses. Or maybe just keep holding it. Holding hands was nice, and warm. He had forgotten.

“I’ll bring my wallet next time, I promise.” Smith awkwardly fastened up his coat, stashing the cookie in a pocket. “Thanks for this, seriously.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Trott crossed his arms, gave a little wave and waited for Smith to slip out the door. He locked it, and stood there for a moment watching as Smith stepped gingerly through the drifts of snow, crossing in the middle of the street. From the back, the sound of Mary singing along with the radio as she ran the last few carafes through the sink floated out. Trott leaned his head against the glass, the chill a welcome sensation. He still felt a little flushed, like his heart was beating just a bit too fast. **  
**

 


End file.
